


Tenure-Track

by natsubaki



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Attraction, Close Proximity, First Meetings, M/M, Professors, Tsukikane Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 04:03:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5482607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natsubaki/pseuds/natsubaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the newest hire in his department, somehow, Kaneki's life might have gotten a bit more complicated than he'd expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tenure-Track

**Author's Note:**

> Written for tumblr's Tsukikane Week - Day Three: Alternate Universe / re:vision.

“Just right this way,” the office manager says as he opens the door to the private office. _Banjou_ , Kaneki repeats in his head, _Banjou Kazuichi_. It’s an important name to remember. Said man is gigantic and imposing, and surprisingly talkative, with a peculiarly-groomed goatee on his chin. Well, this _is_ academia, Kaneki notes—just about anything goes, as long as someone’s effective. As he steps into the office— _his_ new office—Kaneki is instantly assaulted by the smell of old paper and coffee. “Good morning, Tsukiyama-sensei. May I introduce you to Kaneki-sensei? He’s our latest hire and will be sharing an office with you starting today.”

The man in question turns around in his chair, plucking off his reading glasses. The first thing that Kaneki notices is that he’s ridiculously good-looking, despite the heavy bags underneath his (very red) eyes. He also has strangely-colored hair, but it doesn’t look at all out of place on him. His clothes are deceptively high-end: a dark argyle print sweater and slim-fit slacks, a sport jacket tossed somewhat haphazardly over the back of his chair. Tsukiyama folds down the page's top corner of the hardbound book in his hands and discards it on his desk before rising and walking over.

He’s also much taller than Kaneki would have guessed.

“Yes— _merci_ —Kaneki-sensei. I’ve heard much about you. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to meet you during your on-campus interview; I was facilitating a session at a conference in Kyoto that day. I heard that your public presentation on Kitahara Hakushuu was quite well-received,” Tsukiyama says with a smile, extending a hand, “Kamishiro-sensei certainly had a lot to say about it after.”

Ah, the woman whose long hair was very similar to Tsukiyama’s. She had been relentless during the question and answer session. Kaneki graciously accepts Tsukiyama’s offered hand. It’s warm and shockingly strong. “Thank you very much, Tsukiyama-sensei,” he says, bowing, “I am in your care.”

“Tsukiyama-sensei is the chair of the literature department, which your division falls under, Kaneki-sensei,” Banjou comments. “Normally, modern literature and poetry would be separate, but we’re a bit understaffed, and you know how budget matters go these days, so we’ve had to make due where we can...”

It’s probably more than Kaneki needs to know on his first day, but another part of Banjou’s comment prompts Kaneki’s curiosity. He should probably have known this, or at least waited to look it up after he got situated, but he can’t help himself. “What is your specialization, Tsukiyama-sensei?” he asks as he releases Tsukiyama’s hand.

Tsukiyama blinks, long eyelashes fluttering, but his smile does not falter. “Classics and comparative literature.” His grin grows wider. “Don’t worry, Kaneki-sensei, since we’re in different fields, I wouldn’t expect you to know my work.”

Kaneki can feel his cheeks starting to burn, but he squashes his embarrassment and hopes his new boss won’t be able to detect anything amiss. He returns the smile. “I look forward to learning more about it.”

It seems like a satisfactory answer. Tsukiyama crosses his arms over his chest and looks around, his brows furrowing. A small crease marrs his otherwise pristine face. “Yes. Well. I suppose I’ll have to do something about this mess. I can clear out at least a few shelves today, so that you’ll have some storage space, but we’ll need to order a new bookcase…”

Kaneki doesn’t know where it would fit. The office is just barely big enough for two and crammed to the gills with volumes upon volumes of ancient texts, some likely worth more than his paycheck. Before he has a chance to object, Banjou sets the file box he’d been carrying down on the floor and claps a hand over his shoulder, almost sending him off-balance. “Just contact me if you need anything, Kaneki-sensei. I’ll be heading back to the front desk.”

Add _surprisingly familiar_ to that list.

When Kaneki turns his attention back, Tsukiyama is scrambling to clear off stacks of papers and a small army of used coffee cups from the spare desk, nearly tipping one over in the process. None of the cups have lids, and each contains some measure of forgotten coffee, the internal walls of the paper cups stained with a deep brown gradient marked with rings. Kaneki decides to just let Tsukiyama do what he wills and uses the opportunity to take in his new quarters.

Next to the desk is a red automatic coffee maker. It’s shiny, probably the newest thing in this room, aside from him. “Tsukiyama-san,” Kaneki calls, pointing to the machine when Tsukiyama looks back over his shoulder.

“Oh, that? It’s because the coffee at the faculty lounge sucks, and the stuff at the campus cafe is a rip-off,” Tsukiyama almost snorts. He resumes his task, although really, it shouldn’t be taking him this long to clear off such a small surface… “I grind my own beans at home daily and bring them in. You’re welcome to them, or to bring your own in, if you’d prefer not to drink the swill served here.”

Coffee snob. Got it. Kaneki has never been particularly picky about his—with enough cream and sugar, anything could taste good. He wonders if his new officemate is picky about anything else.

After a few moments of awkwardly standing around and a full trash bin of disposable cups later, Kaneki finds himself sitting at his new desk. It’s standard issue, but the seat is rather comfortable. Faint imprints of coffee rings still dot along the desk—he’ll have to wipe down the top later. As Kaneki unpacks his small box of belongings, he feels eyes on him. “Tsukiyama-san,” he says, not looking over, “how long have you been chair?”

“Hm? Only a semester,” Tsukiyama replies, “I was appointed after Takatsuki-sensei stepped down to pursue a full-time writing career. I understand that she recommended your hiring.”

Familiar territory. Kaneki grasps at it, because introductions and small talk have never been his forte. “Takatsuki-sensei was the reason I applied to work here.”

A light chuckle rings through the room, drawing Kaneki’s attention. “I’m sorry for the disappointment, then,” Tsukiyama says, his eyes shining.

Yet another blunder. Kaneki wishes he could slide off his seat and crawl under his desk. “N-no, not at all,” he quickly denies. In truth, he’s heard stories of Takatsuki’s...eccentricities, and the one time he’d met her during his search, he’d left feeling particularly unnerved. As though she could carve his thoughts into pages and read them like a book. Perhaps having her as a boss would have been a problem. But then again, Kaneki knows next to nothing about his new boss.

Tsukiyama swivels around in his chair, his long legs crossed. He leans back and stares at the ceiling, tapping his mechanical pencil against pursed lips. “Well, she’s still affiliate faculty here, so you might yet run into her sometime. She pops by campus every now and then, and she still participates in the speaker series in the spring.”

Each tap shakes the lead inside the instrument like a maraca. Kaneki can’t help but look. Tsukiyama’s lips are full and well-shaped. The barest pink. They look soft. He swallows. This new boss...would pose his own problems.

He murmurs words of acknowledgement and returns to his own task. The department had supplied him with a fair amount of office supplies and a laptop, although they would have to share a phone (housed atop Tsukiyama’s desk), and the printer was communal to the department. All he really needed to bring were his own books for reference, files, and anything he’d want to make his space look more homey.

Kaneki didn’t have much of that last item, to be honest. He’d brought his notebooks from his master’s program and a bound copy of his doctoral dissertation, along with a Doraemon coffee mug he’d received from his best friend, Hide, when he’d gotten his first teaching assistantship. “You’ll need it,” Hide had teased when he’d presented it, “for all those late-night grading crunches.”

It had come in handy. Kaneki smiles at it, running a thumb over its handle and placing it to the right of his laptop. A cough jostles him from the memory, but when Kaneki looks over, Tsukiyama’s head is buried in his book.

They ease back into a comfortable silence. Since he hadn’t had much to unpack, and he’s still locked out of his campus email (he’d called in a trouble ticket to tech support an hour ago, to no avail), there’s not much for him to do. Kaneki wishes he’d brought a novel with him, although in all practicality, he could probably just borrow a book from one of Tsukiyama’s shelves. It probably wouldn’t look too good on his first day, though, so instead, Kaneki scans the room and takes inventory.

It’s a little difficult to look around without causing a disturbance. Their desks are shoved against adjoining walls, sharing a corner, making them sit almost back-to-back. If either of them scooted back at the same moment, they’d be sure to collide. Maybe after he’d settled a bit, he could suggest rearranging the room’s setup…

Something he hadn’t initially noticed is a small vase of white flowers perched at the far edge of Tsukiyama’s desk. Kaneki’s never been all that good at telling them apart, but they’re surprisingly fresh compared to the messy state of the office. A framed photograph of Tsukiyama with a younger woman in graduation robes sits next to the vase. The woman looks a lot like Tsukiyama and smiles brightly. She’s too old to be his child...Kaneki wonders about their relation but does not comment. Framed diplomas hang on the wall. A multitude of dictionaries in different languages are stuffed on a top shelf of one of the bookcases. A small radio sits on the middle shelf of another. Multicolored post-it notes cascade down a pinboard next to a wall calendar (Hokusai ukiyo-e).

It’s these little things that fill the office with undiscovered personality. Kaneki feels a little guilty for taking space away, especially from the chair of his department, but he hopes they’ll get along. So far, everything seems to be okay, if Kaneki can just remember to filter his words before they leave his mouth. It’s somehow not surprising at all, but Tsukiyama has a sharp mind and even sharper tongue. If Kaneki isn’t careful, he’ll be diagnosed with a chronic case of open mouth, insert foot. He’d already slipped up twice...

But...this arrangement is actually kind of pleasant. If he’d been given his own office, Kaneki would have likely holed himself up there until the next faculty meeting, between teaching classes. This way, he should be able to learn a lot from Tsukiyama, hopefully making his acclimation to this new environment easier. Besides, the office has a comforting feel to it, despite (or maybe because of) its organized chaos. Its eastern-facing window illuminates the room with soft morning sunlight, which works out nicely since Kaneki teaches in the afternoon. The pervading fragrance of coffee is rather invigorating, while the scent of aging paper reminds him of quiet days tucked away between library aisles. And with Tsukiyama’s personal effects as decoration...it’s like being in someone’s home, rather than at work. Kaneki makes a mental note to sort through some of his own belongings and bring them in.

The snapping shut of a book nearly makes him jump out of his seat. “Oh. Is it that time already?” Tsukiyama muses aloud, seemingly to himself. He pulls his glasses off his face (when had he even put them back on?), and they clatter to his desk.

“That time…?” Kaneki parrots, wondering if such outbursts are common.

“ _Oui_ , Kaneki-sensei. _Manger!_ ” Tsukiyama replies with a flourish, as if it makes complete sense. “It’s important to take breaks for sustenance. Renews the spirit, and all.” He stands, threading his arms through his jacket. “Tell me, Kaneki-sensei, are you familiar with Brillat-Savarin?”

“‘Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you what you are,’” Kaneki recites. _The Physiology of Taste_ had been one of the volumes in his father’s collection.

Tsukiyama’s smile reaches his eyes. It’s a good look. Kaneki wants to earn a repeat. “So you’ve read it. Then you’ll remember, ‘To receive guests is to take charge of their happiness during the entire time they are under your roof.’ So please, allow me to treat you to lunch.”

“But I’m not really a guest,” Kaneki says as he carefully backs out of his desk and retrieves his messenger bag. “I’m happy to join you, but there’s no need for you to pay.”

“ _Non_ ,” Tsukiyama tsks, leading their way out the door. “I insist. View it as payment for me talking your ear off during, since now you can’t feign ignorance,” he laughs. If the smile was one thing, the laugh is something else completely: it fills Kaneki with warmth and at the same time sends a trill up his spine.

Coffee snob _and_ a foodie. Well, they often go hand-in-hand. Considering Kaneki’s admittedly rather poor eating habits, maybe meals with Tsukiyama would be a good thing for him in the long run.

Tsukiyama pauses at the doorway, allowing Kaneki to pass. He pulls it closed behind them and jiggles the handle, checking that it’s locked, then lightly places a hand at the center of Kaneki’s back to guide him out. The touch lingers for a few seconds before Tsukiyama’s arm returns to his side, but during that short moment, Kaneki’s heart stutters and he forgets what breathing is.

Shit. Perhaps _this_ boss would pose a bigger problem than he’d anticipated… He hopes the brisk fall air will serve as an adequate cover for the reason that his cheeks are undoubtedly red.

 


End file.
